


Chance Meetings

by snowdarkred



Series: The Crossover Drabbles [4]
Category: Supernatural, The Losers (2010)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:04:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdarkred/pseuds/snowdarkred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What are the odds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> I put together a list of character across several fandoms and then generated random groupings among them. These drabbles are the result.

The bar is dusty, deserted. Pooch is on the run again, this time without his fellow Losers. They all have parts to play in the war against Max, and shit needs to get done fast. They can’t afford the luxury of watching each other’s backs. Cougar and Jensen have pealed off somewhere, planning to do some highly technical hack-and-shoot business; Pooch didn’t ask for details. Aisha is off in the Middle East, working her contacts and plotting global domination. Clay is probably bashing some poor bastard’s head in for information.

Pooch is sitting outside of an abandoned bar, desperately wishing for a drink.

A humming growl lurks at the edges of his awareness. It draws closer, turning from a hum to a roar. Pooch leans against his truck and watches the monster approach. It’s the kind of car that makes good middle class white folks lock their doors. A black ’67 Impala, meticulously maintained but battle-scared nonetheless. A warrior’s vehicle. A man almost too pretty to be real climbs out; his hand hovers above a thigh holster.

Pooch grins easily. He’s an easy goin’ guy, and he’s far better with than almost everyone in their unit. Jensen is the exception, of course, but that’s because no one expects the soft-eyed geek to brain them with a metal briefcase. The other man eyes him suspiciously, his gaze flicking from Pooch’s truck to the dark building beside them. He’s clearly come here for something, but he hadn’t expected it to be empty.

He’s looking at Pooch like he’s thinking dark thoughts.

“How’s it goin’?” Pooch asks brightly. Not too brightly. Just enough to showcase the relaxed angle of his shoulders and the steady pace of his breathing. He wants too look like a man with nothing to hide, which is far from the truth.

“Where is everyone?” the pretty man asks in turn, ignoring Pooch’s question.

“I don’t know,” Pooch says, shrugging. “I just pulled over at the first place that looked like it would have food.”

“That so?”

“Yep.”

“Nice ride,” Pretty Man says, nodding at Pooch’s truck. He coughs exaggeratedly, trying to hide some Latin underneath. He’s less subtle than he thinks he is.

“Yours too,” Pooch replies.

“Look, maybe you should get out of here, man,” Pretty Man says. There’s a hint of an order in his tone, like he’s used to giving them — and having them followed. Pooch, however, only takes orders from Clay, who is, to the best of his knowledge, on the other side of the world beating up crooked government officials.

“Nah, I think I’ll stick around,” Pooch says. He rolls his shoulder and pulls out his own gun. The Pretty Man eyes it warily. “See if there are any demons hanging around. Ghosts. Angry angels. That sort of thing.”

Pretty Man blinks at him, startled, before snapping into combat mode. “Cover me, okay?” he orders, and this time Pooch does what he’s told.

Some things are just like riding a bicycle. Hunting demons is one them.


End file.
